I sank to her level like a stone.
There was a garden. It was beautiful
a moment ago, but now a nightmare. Black were trees and windows and the air and
a man stood in it, with red hands dripping and a demon – nay, not a demon, but
a demonic version of himself climbing on his back. In fact all shadows formed
into this man, each uglier than the next, each with face worse contorted in
either agony or ill intent. The demonic self got all but on the top of his
head, grand to have achieved it, jeering at me, they were both staring at me, clawing
until it managed to break a collarbone from the red-handed man and with it stabbed
the man in the neck enough times to break off the head and into the chest
enough times to carve out the heart. The shadow selves tore apart the head,
looking for something, and the demonic self tore apart the heart, looking for
something, getting ever more hysterical and insane when it could not be found.
Whatever it was it was very small, but how would they know where to look if
everything before me was black?
The black fell asleep. Gardens and
demons and things not found were gone.
I have never seen such beautiful
nothingness. This was the most at home and at ease I have ever suspected one
could learn to feel. Every promise was delivered and every prayer praised for
its fine rhetoric. Pleasantly, reassuringly, I got permission to belong to the
entirety of the scenery, the fragrantless wind, the assuring gravity, the calmest
of nights, the …
…
Huh, I chuckled, looking around. Right back at where we started.
She stood knee deep in dead water.
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